


To Build a Court

by DraniKitty



Series: Tales from the Garbage Court [2]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Blood and Gore, M/M, Murder, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraniKitty/pseuds/DraniKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A selkie and a kelpie move to a city together, and find an abandoned gargoyle. They form an impromptu court and take a name of mockery and make it their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Build a Court

The city had a life all its own. It was nothing like the quiet towns by the sea, near where selkies hunted and played in the waves, nor was it the sleepy villages up on the moorlands that kelpies hunted on. It was all light and noise, everything thrumming with electricity as people walked under neon lights and old building facades.  
  
As Smith and Trott got out of the car, staring up at the hotel they'd stopped at for the night, they couldn't help but be mesmerised. In their wildest dreams, they'd never thought they would be somewhere like this. They'd thought they would live the rest of their lives out on the moors, surrounded by a lot of nothing with enough walking travelers stupid enough to climb on the back of the horse grazing near the sluggish and peaceful river, or into the car with the harmless-looking brunette and dashing redhead.  
  
They had grown bored, though, after too many years of being there, and with a fond farewell from Smith's mother and nan, they'd struck out on the road.  
  
Now they stood before the hotel, staring at it. Around them, people jostled by in their brightly-colored clothing, causing them both to realize how much they stood out. As they walked in, they noted the cheap decor, a hallmark to the past decade when rock and roll first entered the airwaves. Despite this, the clerk behind the desk wore rose-tinted glasses with his otherwise staunch uniform.  
  
"Good day, gentlemen, how may I help you?"  
  
Trott fished his wallet out as he eyed the man. "We need a room for a while."  
  
"Groovy, must be moving to town!" The clerk opened a book, writing down the names he was given before accepting money and handing Trott a key. "There you go, you're up on the third floor! Have a good night! And welcome to the city!"  
  
When they got into the room, Smith promptly went over to the bed and fell on it face-down. "I want to sleep so... Fucking long..."  
  
Trott sighed, setting his bag down. "Yeah, well, we need to go get something to eat. We can sleep after that." He was also curious about this new city. There were so many people, human and fae alike. He'd never seen so many of either in one place before, neither on the way to or from the moors. Sure humans were social creatures, but the towns further north were much smaller. And fae... The only fae he'd seen forming groups were, mostly, selkies, and kelpies, he'd found, formed very very loose herds. They were usually solitary creatures, only sticking together if they were closely related mares, much like Smith's mother and nan.  
  
He let a groan. "But Trooooott... I think I'm too TIRED to eat! You didn't have to stare at the road for an ungodly number of hours to get here!"  
  
"No, I just had to make sure you didn't get us LOST." Granted, they'd be the most dangerous thing if they got lost, but he didn't want to BE lost in the middle of nowhere. "Now come on. I think I saw a bar back up the road from here."  
  
With a long, groaning sigh, Smith pushed himself up off the bed. "Fine, fine..." He made a half-hearted attempt at taming his hair before following Trott from the room.  
  
Used to the much smaller and local-themed pubs of the small towns up on the moors, both Smith and Trott were shocked by the initial brightness of the bar they found themselves at. They'd been accustomed to the clothing of farmers, not the dyed shirts and flared pants of the city.  
  
Smith took a drink of the mixed beverage he ordered and promptly made a face. "This is so SWEET!" He put the glass down, turning to the bartender. "Could I get a whiskey?"  
  
Trott looked at the abandoned beverage, taking it and downing it. As he set the glass down, he shrugged. "I liked it enough."  
  
Taking his new drink, Smith gave Trott a flat look. "Mate, you drank glorified PISS at the pubs. Of course you liked that over-sweet fruity thing." He held up his glass. "I'll stick to my whiskey, thanks."  
  
"Whatever!" He waved his hand, then turned back to the dancing people. The youth of the decade had fast gotten lost in the counterculture movement, many passing drugs around as freely as they drank and pressed their bodies to those of strangers. It didn't take long for him to pick out the victim of the night, pointing Smith toward her.  
  
He descended with the ease he'd practiced further north, drawing her in with a gift of a drink and murmured sweetness. He drew her out of the crowd, out the door into the night.  
  
Trott trailed behind, waiting outside the alley Smith had taken the girl into, listening to the gasps and moans and declarations of pleasure. The sound of water told Trott when to walk down the alley, getting there in time to have it wash over his shoes.  
  
Smith was already on her throat, biting at it and tearing flesh from bone with sharp teeth. He looked up as Trott sat next to him, letting out a pleased sound before going back to eating.  
  
"Told you getting a bite would be a good idea. You're showering before we sleep, though. Don't want blood all over everything." Calm as anything, he took out a knife to cut pieces away, popping them in his mouth. As they left the alley, both content, Trott counted the money they'd pilfered off the body. "Should be able to get us something new to wear with this..."  
  
"What's wrong with what we're wearing NOW?" Now self-conscious about his clothing, Smith looked down and tugged on his shirt. There was blood on it, prompting him to take it off and bundle it up before anybody saw. "These were just fine back on the moors."  
  
Trott sighed, shoving the money in his pocket while rubbing his eyes. "What's wrong is that we stick OUT. We're still dressed FOR the moors and country living, not city life." He motioned around with one hand. "We need to adapt, Smith! We need to blend in, or people will notice us even faster, and in the wrong way!"  
  
He hummed in thought, then nodded as he held the door to their room open. "You have a fair point."  
  
"Always do, sunshine."  
  
"But I'm NOT wearing those pants with the giant leg bottoms! I'm not a kelpie from the bloody Shire!"  


* * *

  
  
The search for what could palatably be called 'home' took what felt like ages. They moved hotels several times over the course of several months, as workers got suspicious, but remained in the city. They learned fast about the different courts of the city, the many fae residing there. They weren't the only ones hunting the local human populace, and the dazzle of the city seemed to dull human senses. Old wisdoms about the fae were forgotten by heady youth, treated as silly superstition.  
  
It was a fae's paradise, it seemed, if one could get a foothold.  
  
Somewhere on the roads through the city, months started to become years. They settled into a tiny flat, as big as they could afford. They watched together as bell bottoms and long unruly hair were exchanged for leisure suits and more styled hair, the psychedelic music of before evolving into disco and the beginnings of hard rock.  
  
As disco died, Trott got tired of the way they made money and sat down to make plans. He sat at their tiny cheap kitchen table, pouring over books and papers.  
  
Smith walked in from a day of, as Trott tended to call it, pissing around, walking over to the fridge. "What're you up to, Trotty?"  
  
"I'm going to start a business." He looked up, pushing his glasses up his nose. "A more reliable income than whatever we can get off people at clubs."  
  
"A business, huh?" Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he took a seat across from Trott. "What kind of business?" He cracked a grin. "Protection racket? Like the mafia..."  
  
He gave Smith a flat look. "No." He sat back, letting out a sigh and rubbing his temple. "No, I don't know yet... I really don't." He paused. "But NOT a greenhouse!"  
  
The face Smith made told Trott he knew exactly who he was referring to. "Gotta be something good, then." He drummed his fingers on the can, staring at their rabbit-eared television as he thought. "Something the other fae will think is harmless... What about a pet shop?"  
  
He blinked, frowning. "A... PET SHOP? That's a bit of a strange idea, a selkie and a kelpie selling cats and dogs."  
  
Smith's shoulders sank as he pulled a frustrated face, staring at the ceiling. "We're not going to sell ANIMALS, Trott! I mean pet supplies! Food, kitty litter, fish tanks, gerbil cages, that kind of stuff!"  
  
Slowly, Trott removed his glasses. "Smith... You're a fucking genius!"  
  
"Yeah, I know, but people keep thinking I'm not." He ducked, a grin on his face, as Trott leaned over to smack him with a magazine.  
  
Sitting back, one arm draping over the back of his chair, Trott grinned. "People will always have pets, and pets will always have needs... We'll always have business!"  
  
"Only question is, what do we call it?"  
  
Trott waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "We'll think of that later." He then looked at his books, sighing. "You scout locations... I'll... Go back to this shit."  
  
Out in the city, Smith slipped through the throngs of people on foot, admiring the change in fashion that was happening. As they left behind the decadence of the disco age, clothing was becoming more bright, with leather and wild patterns. Tight spandex was starting to become more of a thing worn by people as well, sometimes in solid colors and other times in loud prints. But on the same hand, jeans and t-shirts that had begun to gain popularity as far back as the 50's were going as strong as ever, an unchangeable element in the world around them.  
  
Something caught Smith's senses. It wasn't so much his eye, as he'd been looking at shops, and it wasn't his ears. Nothing unusual about the side road had really jumped out as sounding unusual. He looked around, starting to follow... He wasn't entirely sure what he was following.  
  
As he got closer to whatever it was, he began to taste an old magic in the air. It was unlike the magic of some of the sidhe lords in the city, despite being as old as a couple of them were. It was more... Human. The shops around him began to shrink in number, soon replaced by houses and the odd solicitor's office. Something could just be seen over the rooftops, a point in the sky above them.  
  
Smith rounded a corner and promptly stopped. Before him stood the crumbling ruins of a church, many of the stained-glass windows long broken by vandals and time. A worn sign declared it to be closed for repairs, the paint on it telling how long it had been there. Smith let out an exasperated sigh, gesturing at the old building for nobody in particular. "I just went on a wild goose chase for a stupid old building?!" He let out a frustrated scream, then  spun on his heel, stalking away and deciding that the building wouldn't be worth mentioning to Trott.  
  
His search turned into a daily search, as he sought the perfect place for a shop. Every day, he wound up drawn back to the church.  
  
As the snow began to fall, Smith found himself standing in front of the building again, hands in his coat pockets. He frowned at the building, noting how it seemed to have crumbled just a bit more. In the distance, he heard the songs of the holiday, things humans sang every year. Another church, one still in use, rang its bells somewhere in the city, calling worshippers to sing their songs into the rafters and fill the building with the spell of the peoples' love.  
  
He wasn't sure what possessed him to do it, but Smith found himself kicking the rusted gate out of the way, walking up to the rotting doors. Whatever old magic had been bound to it to keep fae out had long since left, and he pushed on the wood with ease. He had to stop and stare as the door fell off, cracking wetly as it went before thudding to the dusty floor.  
  
The inside looked more sad and dismal than the outside, covered in dust and grime. In a few places, snow was accumulating through holes in the ceiling, and part of one wall near the altar was missing. As Smith walked over to look at it, he noticed the hole where a large shell had been. He dimly remembered his mother and nan telling him about the war, and how so many children had been shipped north to be with families and away from where their families believed danger to be.  
  
His mother had lamented that she'd not had Smith sooner in her life, as there had been so many children that wound up without families, meals had been very easy to come by.  
  
He looked up at the rafters, most rotten with age. Much of the stone had the sheen of moss growing on it, and the dead remains of vines crawling up the inside walls. Come spring, they'd probably blossom with life again as new vines sprouted and grew.  
  
Something caught Smith's eye and he walked over to one of the walls, reaching a hand up. There were claw marks in the stone, and as he ran his thumb over them, he quietly measured how far apart they were. Up the wall they went, clustered in gropus of five. Half distinctly looked like the claw marks of hands, while the other half were from feet. His eyes traced their path up to the rafters, but nothing was evident in the darkness above. Only moss and moisture stared back at him.  
  
After a few minutes, he let out a huff and left, missing the pair of eyes watching from a doorway behind the alter.  
  
He returned with Trott the next day, both staring up at the building as they walked in. "Don't know why this place still has magic on it, I don't think anybody's been here since before we were born."  
  
Trott let out a hum, pausing to look at one of the few remaining stained glass windows. He was reminded of the church in the village near where they'd been living before, done up to look like saints and angels. He'd never been in one before, though. Fae had little reason to enter churches except to cause mischief. As his hands brushed over the back of a pew, the seat sagging in several places, he tilted his head. "I kind of feel sorry for this building..."  
  
"Yeah, I think it got damaged in the war. Get over here, that's not why I brought you here."  
  
Chuckling, Trott walked over to where Smith stood. He was confused, until he looked at where Smith was pointing. The claw marks surprised him, and he reached up to touch them. "No rat made those marks..."  
  
"No shit, Sherlocke."  
  
"Keep digging, Watson, we'll find the answer to this mystery yet!"  
  
Giving Trott a good-natured shove to the arm, Smith started walking around, poking at this and that. His eyes were drawn to the door to an office at the back, the door slightly ajar. As he walked closer, he spied an old magazine on the floor. He crouched to pick it up, noting that it was behind at least two decades.  
  
The door creaked, drawing both Smith's and Trott's attention. Trott moved closer to Smith, staring into the dark room. A deep and gravely growl emanated from behind the door, causing both to start backing away. There was a dull bang as the door was thrown open and something charged out at them with a snarl and a roar, followed closely by the clatter of hooves as Trott hopped on Smith's back and Smith fled the church in a panic.  
  
Other than later retrieving his car, Smith didn't return to the church for a week. When Christmas arrived, though, he found himself bored. Armed with some magazines and a small portable radio he'd gotten who the hell knew how long ago, he found himself in front of the old building.  
  
New claw marks had appeared outside the remains of the front doors, both now broken off and in pieces. As Smith walked in, he could practically feel the anger and rage that had brought the second door down and broken the remains of both. He chewed his lip, eyeballing the door behind the altar before looking up to the rafters and windows. He swore he saw a shadow in front of one of the remaining stained glass windows, but it was gone before he could make it out.  
  
He frowned, looking around, before he found a stone to sit on. It was cold under his ass, but he hoped his lack of threatening posture would prevent him getting attacked. The stations he went through on the radio were all playing music of the holiday, mostly current songs, but he soon found one that reminded him of the churches in the village back on the moores.  
  
High up in the dark rafters, a figure watched. The tiny box the stranger held was soon playing music not heard in the building's walls in too many winters to count, and a glass tail wrapped around one of the few sturdy beams. The gargoyle shifted, hugging the beam and listening, watching the stranger on the fallen stones turn through magazines. They seemed... Harmless enough. Right?  
  
As Smith turned the page in another magazine, he listened to the music. It was some choir, singing old songs from ages past, and he couldn't help starting to sing along. He placed nothing in the human beliefs, silly notions that they thought could protect them from the world around them, but he couldn't deny that the music was good and catchy.  
  
Which speaking of catching, it didn't take long before he caught the sound of somebody else in the building singing. As the song playing ended, Smith stopped singing. The mysterious other stopped seconds later, having carried the last note a bit longer. The sound wasn't so much like his own singing, or Trott's. Despite how deep Trott's voice was in comparison to his own, Smith found his singing to be of a higher pitch. But this mysterious being, this unknown entity, their singing was pitched much lower. He opted to keep ignoring them, despite his gnawing curiosity, to turn the page and read another article.  
  
The figure had moved closer. The music had drawn him in, the sound and feel of it. Even if the stranger didn't appear to know the words so well, it still amazed him. Another song came from the small box next to the stranger, and he was soon lost in it, sitting in the single large and circular stained glass window, voice rising across the rafters.  
  
Smith looked up, startled by how close the singing was. What he saw caught his eye. In the only round window, one of the few remaining stained glass windows still intact, was the figure of a man. A blue glass tail hung down from where he sat, barbed at the end with a ring in it. Slowly, Smith put the magazine down, rising as quietly as he could to walk over to the altar, staring up at the man. When the song ended, he let out a breath. "That was beautiful..."  
  
Shifting, the gargoyle looked down, staring the stranger in the eyes. There was silence as he became still, more statue-like, taking in this kelpie so bold to repeatedly come back to the church. The silence was broken by O Little Town of Bethlehem coming from the little box. Fingers twitched as the urge to sing was fought, but vibrant blue eyes soon closed as the words came out. "O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie..."  
  
Looking around, Smith found a spot to sit down, bending over so his elbows were on his knees and chin in his hands. The words held little for him, it was more the voice and the figure themselves that he was interested in. When the song finally ended, he let out a happy sound, sitting up to start clapping. "Bravo!"  
  
What was this feeling? Praise... The gargoyle had never been praised before. It felt... Good. Curiosity, the same sort that had propelled the snatching of the magazine so long ago that the pages were worn, brought him down to the floor, inching just a bit closer to the kelpie. "Y-you liked that...?"  
  
As the gargoyle drew closer, Smith saw that he was made of stone, pale pink marble with darker lines running through it. His tail wasn't the only glass thing about him, a small pair of horns coming off his forehead and a line of blue chips running down his stomach to the very prominently present matching glass dick. "Mate, that was amazing. No, I didn't like it." As he saw the gargoyle's face begin to fall, he held his hands up. "I LOVED it! But I got a couple questions." He leaned in closer. "Is there a name, to go with that phenomenal voice? And who do I high five for making you?"  
  
There was hesitation, before the gargoyle looked down at his hands. "N-no... Nobody ever... Named me." He couldn't even remember who'd made him, only that they were long gone.  
  
"Well aren't you the luckiest bastard in the city..." No name meant that any name he gave this living statue wouldn't technically be his true name. Nobody could hold power over him ever, not without using a more deliberate and direct spell. "Right, we need to fix that, don't we?" He then eyed the gargoyle. "And maybe put pants on you... Pretty as that dick is, it's impolite to walk around naked."  
  
His brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would anybody worry about me walking around naked? And why would I NEED to put pants on?"  
  
Smith sat back, placing his hands behind him on the floor. "What, you think I'm gonna just leave you here? All alone in a building that's not seen much life since the war? That was, what, forty years ago?" He tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling in thought. "Make that... Forty six."  
  
The gargoyle blinked, tilting his head as he sat down, legs crossed and hands on his ankles. His tail curled around, twitching in just a way that the light caught on the glass. Up close, Smith could properly see the ring in it, a curious feature that he didn't know the purpose of. "But... I can't leave." He motioned around the room with one hand, index and middle finger pressed together to point while the rest of his fingers curled against his palm. "This is my home, I guard this church."  
  
He grimaced. "Mate... This isn't much of a home. Nobody's coming back. There's barely anything left to guard." He got up, dusting his pants off before offering his hand. "There's nothing to stay for, so why not leave?"  
  
There was hesitation as his hand reached toward the offered hand, before it drew back against his chest. "I can't leave." He got up on his own, tail moving back and forth behind him. "My arm burned when I got the magazine, because it was outside the fence and boundaries of the church property." The damage had been repaired, at least. There were bits of stone enough everywhere to make sure of that.  
  
"What, you mean there's actually a spell keeping you here? What kind of dick would do something like that?" Smith put his hands on his hips, thoughtful, before he nodded to himself. "Gonna have to burn it."  
  
"WHAT?!" The exclamation came out shrill and high-pitched. "Why would you burn a church?!"  
  
Smith gave him a flat look. "Hi, I'm a kelpie? I have no investment in human religion. Besides, if it's going to free you from being imprisoned in here, why not burn it? Nobody gives a damn about this place anyway."  
  
The gargoyle stared at Smith, then turned and walked toward the office. "I care about this place." He spun around, walking backwards as he pointed at Smith. "And watch your mouth! It's falling apart but you're still in a church!"  
  
Smith frowned, crossing his arms and tapping his foot as he watched the gargoyle go. As if he wasn't hot enough, even his ASS was perfectly sculpted! "Damn travesty to leave that here..." He sighed, going and grabbing the magazines and radio. After a moment of thought, he left them by the door to the office behind the altar before leaving the church.  
  
The door opened slightly, blue eyes watching him leave. After a moment, they shifted down to the things on front of the door, before reaching out and taking them.  


* * *

  
  
Trott collapsed on the sofa, arms across the back of it and head laying back as he sighed. "Smith, I passed that damn class!" He held his hand up in a fist of victory. "I can now get a business license and we can open our own store!" He paused, then looked toward the hall. "Smith?" He got up, for the first time noticing the sound of the shower. As he walked, he tripped on something, letting out a surprised yelp.  
  
When he looked down, he felt deep confusion. "Smith? Why are there rocks in the flat?" He got no answer from the bathroom and kept walking. As he got closer, he heard Smith talking to somebody. He opened the door, wondering why either of them ever really bothered to close it, and stopped. "What is THAT?!"  
  
Smith blinked, looking up, then his face broke into a grin. "Trotty! Look what I got!" He pointed to the gargoyle, who was himself blinking owlishly at Trott. Soap coated him, including shampoo in his hair, and in many places it was dark with grime and dirt and possibly soot. "He's not got a name yet. Nobody bothered to name him, Trott!"  
  
"Why would.. Never mind, that didn't answer my question! What IS he?" He walked in, stepping over another rock. "And why are there rocks everywhere?!" He stopped by the shower, looking the... He still wasn't sure what he was looking at.  
  
"He's a gargoyle, and the rocks are his worldly possessions." He carefully wiggled around, putting the gargoyle under the shower's spray. "Come on, gotta rinse you off! Nice and clean now!"  
  
Trott could only stare, first at Smith, then at the gargoyle. His eyes were drawn down, stopping at the glass dick for a moment before noting the matching glass tail. He then turned and looked at the rocks, before turning back to Smith. "And where exactly did he COME from?"  
  
"Well!" Smith reached up, tilting the gargoyle's head back to rinse his hair. "You remember that church I showed you a couple weeks ago?"  
  
"Yes, something chased us out."  
  
"Yeah, it was this guy! But I couldn't stay away, so I went back with a radio and some magazines, and got to know him! And now here we are!" He paused, turning the living statue to rinse more of him. "Of course I had to burn the building..."  
  
If he was shocked before, Trott was now horrified. "YOU BURNED DOWN A CHURCH?!" His hands flew up, gripping at his hair. "Smith, why would you DO that?!" He started to pace the bathroom. "We'll get run out of the city! We've invested too much time and effort into BEING here, and you just screwed us over!"  
  
Smith let out a snort. "Nobody gave a damn about it, and I did it because there was still a spell keeping our new friend there!" He reached around, turning the water off. "Trott..." He looked up, face taking on an expression best called puppy dog eyes. "He was all alone, in a place falling apart. If there's anybody who'd know what it's like to feel alone in the world, I would figure you're one of the ones most likely to understand."  
  
A frustration-born sound somewhere between a growl and a groan of resignation escaped Trott's throat before he dropped his hands. "Alright, fine, fine. We'll keep him around. But if anything happens, it's all on YOU."  
  
His face cracked into a grin as he grabbed a towel. "There'll be no regrets!" He started toweling off the gargoyle. "We just gotta worry about getting him wearing clothes, and a name."  
  
Trott sighed, pushing his glasses up and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Good luck with both of those." As he left the bathroom, careful of the rocks, he glanced back to see Smith's tongue out as he dried up water.  
  
When the pair finally left the bathroom, Smith went and hugged Trott from behind. "What's for dinner?"  
  
"Tonight? Fried chicken, bisquits, gravy, corn... And since the hand-held mixer's broken again, potato medallions." He poked the potatoes, tongue poking out slightly. Satisfied they were boiling just fine, he put the lid back on, leaning back into Smith's embrace. "So, any name ideas yet for our new friend?"  
  
"No... Nothing yet." He glanced over his shoulder, watching the gargoyle crouch in front of the television and poke at it. "I'm considering calling him Curious George, with how much he's poking everything. He almost poked the power socket in the bathroom!"  
  
Trott blinked, then turned and looked at Smith. "Can stone get electrocuted? And could you get pants on, please?"  
  
Heading to get pajama pants, Smith stretched. "Not keen on finding out."  
  
He watched Smith vanish into their room, then went over to the gargoyle, crouching down next to him. "That's a telly."  
  
"What's it do?"  
  
Instead of answering, Trott reached over and turned one of the knobs, turning it on. "You watch it. Mostly we watch news, but there's other programs." He then pointed to an attached box. "We also watch movies. We HAD an Atari, but a rat chewed the wire." His nose wrinkled. "Looking into getting a new flat now..."  
  
The gargoyle tilted his head, blinking at Trott. "I have no idea what any of the things you were just talking about are. I've been bound to a CHURCH for several hundred years, and the newest thing I ever saw in it were magazines people left overnight, and a BOMB SHELL dropping on one of the walls. And SINCE then, a radio and Smith's car." And, really, everything outside said car on the way there, but those hardly felt worth listing. He'd hidden in the back, peeking over the edges of the back door like a dog experiencing the car for the first time.  
  
"Well somebody has some strong sass..." Sitting down, Trott rubbed his face. "Let me try something... SIMPLER." He put the television on a channel. "This is the news. Which is... About the burning church, of course... Why am I surprised by this...?"  
  
"Because you forgot for a moment how we got ourselves our own gargoyle." Smith sat on the sofa, unable to suppress a grin. "Don't worry, mate, you'll get used to this all. It's a great wide world out here beyond church yards."  
  
He let out a hum, before playing with the television. A new thing came on, talking about war, and he found himself stopping to watch, curious.  
  
Trott got up, moving to the sofa next to Smith. "I feel like you brought home a puppy that can talk... What does he eat? DO we feed him? Does he SLEEP?" If he slept, would their bed hold his weight, let alone their combined weight?  
  
Smith opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I'm not sure, actually. Should have seen me trying to get him in the shower. He didn't really... LIKE the idea of getting wet. Too much like rain, I guess."  
  
Standing back up, Trott stretched. "Well, we'll figure things out as we go, I suppose... Pick up the rocks, please, one of us is bound to break a toe or worse on them." He ignored Smiths' pout as he walked into the kitchen to tend to dinner.  


* * *

  
  
He fidgeted, playing with the pants. They didn't fit too well, having been designed with somebody lacking a tail in mind. In front of him, Smith was rubbing his chin in thought, staring at the pants. "I don't like these... They're not... Comfortable. Are you SURE I have to wear clothing? Adam and Eve didn't..."  
  
"Adam and Eve clearly lived on a nudist beach." Turning and digging in the box by his feet, Smith produced a belt. "Here we go, this should keep them up."  
  
"But I don't WANT them up. I don't even want them ON!"  
  
He let out a sigh, staring at the ceiling a moment. "Look, mate, I know you're used to NOT wearing clothing, and you're used to having your dick and junk all hanging out for the world to see, but I don't plan on you staying in this tiny-ass flat all day every day, so you can't be walking around naked!"  
  
He could only fidget under Smith's stern gaze, before holding the pants up so the belt could be looped through them. He tugged the fabric, letting out a sigh. Suddenly the world was blocked from his view as a shirt landed on his head. "Hey!" Pulling it off, he glared at Smith. "What was that for?"  
  
"You put the shirt ON. People are already going to question the fact you've got glass horns and a tail, they'll have far too many than I personally care to answer if they can see you're not even made of FLESH." He really didn't want anybody asking where they'd even gotten him. Nudging the box with his foot, he left the room. "Try all the shirts and shit on until you find something you like enough to wear. I'm gonna go look at that book mum sent me."  
  
He could only let out a sigh, watching Smith go. Life had been so much easier when he was still in the church... He didn't have to wear clothing. Of course, when he thought about it, that was probably part of why people yelled at him last time he'd tried to join them for Christmas mass - They didn't appreciate the very naked gargoyle bringing his naked derriere into their presence.  
  
In the living room, Smith turned the pages of the book. It wasn't spectacularly large, something kelpie mothers-to-be once upon looked through for names for their children. The particular edition his mother had sent dated back long before the first big war, sent more by his nan than his mother. He let out a frustrated sound, tossing the book aside.  
  
It bounced against the arm of the sofa, falling on the floor open with the pages facing down. "If this is what it's like to have kids, I don't think I want any!" He really wasn't keen on going through the whole naming process again. As Smith prepared to simply lay on the couch, the yet nameless gargoyle walked out.  
  
He'd finally found a shirt that actually fit. It had some kind of name across it, but it still meant nothing to him. What he'd found far more pleasing had been the plain blue hoodie. It was warm in a way the shirt wasn't, and the pocket on the front fascinated him. It reminded him of a time, ages ago, when women walked around outside and into the church with their arms in large fur-covered articles, tube-like in shape, to keep their hands warm. The hood was just a bonus. He shoved his hands into the front pocket, frowning at Smith. "How... How does it look?"  
  
Smith could only give a thumbs up. If he tried to use his voice, he was sure he'd make some kind of lewd comment about tearing the clothes right back off. It'd do nothing for getting him to keep clothing on. Instead, he got up and went over to poke through the shoes by the door. Finally, he tossed a pair of sneakers at the gargoyle. "Put those on."  
  
He fumbled, only managing to catch one shoe before the other hit the floor. "How? I don't know anything about wearing shoes!"  
  
"The fact you know what shoes are is a plus, but I should probably thank the magazines for that." He pulled his boots on, then went over to pick up the book. "Just move the tongue and slide your foot in. It's not rocket science!" He got a profoundly confused look at the expression. "You know what? We'll go to the library and you can start reading. You have a LOT to catch up on." As he turned the book over, he noted the page. It was then that a name managed to jump out at him. "Ross... Hm.."  
  
The gargoyle sat on the floor with a heavy thud, doing his best to put the shoes on. They were a bit big on his feet, but they fit well enough. He didn't notice Smith staring at the book, or even notice that he'd said anything, until he felt a gentle thump on his head. He blinked, looking up. "What? I got the shoes on! What more do you want?"  
  
Smith chuckled, squatting down to tie them. "Nothing, nothing... Look, pay attention to what I'm doing. We're not tying your shoes for you every day, you're not a foal. I was just thinking... Ross seems a good name for you." It was a name that would probably make his nan proud. He finished tying the second shoe. "How do you like that?"  
  
He wiggled his feet in the shoes, staring at them. "They're not too tight... Not that I really have to worry about circulation."  
  
"I meant the NAME."  
  
"Oh..." He was thoughtful, running it over in his head. After a moment, he murmured, "My name is Ross... Call me Ross..." Finally he nodded. "I like it!"  
  
"Great!" Smith gave Ross' knee a pat, then stood up. "Come on, let's get to the library. One of the few places we can go that's not a store or abandoned."  
  
As he got up, Ross looked at Smith funny. "We?"  
  
Grabbing his jacket, he looked at Ross. "Yes, we. You're with us now, and... Ross, mate, you aren't exactly HUMAN. You're made of stone, glass, and magic. The same magic that stops fae from waltzing into a house uninvited is probably going to stop you from doing the same. That's why there's barriers on doors, to keep the less-than-human out."  
  
For the first time, it hit Ross that he could be absolutely no different from the fae he'd protected his church from. He stopped by the door, staring at Smith. His mouth opened and closed, before his face contorted in confused sorrow. "But... But humans... MADE me... Why wouldn't I be able to go into their homes? Why would they want to keep me out?" He'd been made to protect. The world was profoundly more confusing than he thought it was.  
  
Smith let out a long sigh. "There's a lot to go over... Come on, we can talk on the way."  
  
The library proved to be quite the place. As they walked in, Ross was enamored with how much space there was. Shelves of books stretched as far as the eye could see, and went up at least three floors, with every single one of them stuffed to the gills with tomes of knowledge. A nudge made Ross move, following Smith to a random section.  
  
Before either of them knew it, the sun was setting. While Smith started to leave the books they'd grabbed on the floor, Ross grabbed his shirt, pulling him back. "No, we need to put them back! They let us in here, isn't it right?"  
  
Smith stared for a moment, then sighed, smiling. "Alright, alright..." He picked up a few books, looking around for where they went.  


* * *

  
  
When Trott walked in, he looked around the quiet flat, frowning. Neither Smith nor their new companion were present. He looked at the shoe rack, finding two pairs of Smith's shoes gone. It wasn't a slow deduction that the pair had gone out. He slid his shoes off, leaving them by the door as he walked into the livingroom to collapse on the sofa in an emotion-born physical exhaustion. The city's offices were a bit of a terrifying buzz of bodies, and he'd started to feel overwhelmed by them all. It didn't help how many people were so much taller, making him feel again like a pup in a herd of giants, the skinny little runt.  
  
He hated it and was elated to get out of there as soon as he could. Now it was just a matter of a waiting game for them to let him know if he'd been approved to open a business.  
  
He hadn't even been aware he'd fallen asleep until the front door opened. Sitting up, Trott stretched. "Welcome home, sunshine." He paused. "And... I'm still not sure what to call you."  
  
"Ross."  
  
"Ross..." The heel of his hand rubbed against his left eye. "Settled on a name, have we? That's good.."  
  
Smith walked over, sitting on the sofa next to him. "Had to keep Ross from climbing the shelves at the library. They can't handle a human, let alone a living statue. You know the library's got some shitty information on fae?"  
  
Trott looked at Smith, one eyebrow up. "I could have told you that myself." He jumped as Ross sat down at their feet, looking down at him. "Not chancing the sofa, are we?"  
  
Ross shook his head. "No. I tried to sit on a pew, once... It broke." It hadn't even been rotten yet. It was about the time he realized it might be some time before anybody human came back to the church after the shell had been retrieved. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he'd felt punished for it.  
  
Both Smith and Trott had to bite back laughs, instead reaching down in unison to ruffle Ross' hair. He blinked at the gesture, then closed his eyes, a smile spreading across his face as he leaned back. "I like that." He was rewarded with more rubbing and added scratching.  


* * *

  
  
He wasn't sure what had woken him up. Trott stretched, groaning slightly before shoving Smith's arm off. "Lemme up, Smith..." When he looked he found Smith still fast asleep. When he turned to sit up, he found what had awoken him. By the window stood Ross, looking out at the city below. Pushing himself into a sitting position, Trott rubbed his face. "Ross, why are you up? Do you even sleep..?"  
  
Ross blinked, looking over. "Gargoyles don't sleep. We're always watching." He looked back out the window, hands at his sides. "You never know what danger could be out there."  
  
It was his turn to blink. Instead of saying anything, Trott got up and walked over, standing next to Ross and staring out the window. Few people were walking around so late at night, with at least one fae out on the prowl for their next victim of debt, trickery, or murder. The streets still glowed with the lights of the holiday, snow in a miriad of colors, though most of it was red and green. Trott crossed his arms, shivering a bit, then tugged on Ross. "Come on, come crawl in bed. Even if you don't sleep, at least join us."  
  
He let out a quiet sound, starting to follow. His feet planted on the floor, though, as his eyes widened and his gaze traveled down. "You're NAKED!"  
  
One hand covered his face. "Yes... I am naked. I often sleep naked. So does Smith. It's one of the very few times it's considered socially acceptable to be naked, the list also including bathing and sometimes skinny dipping."  
  
"But... You're both in the same bed... And you're not married! That's... That's sinful!" He tugged his hand away, utterly horrified.  
  
Now both hands were covering his face, as Trott let out a growl. "Ross... We're FAE. We don't GIVE a damn about that all. Look, you can keep your pants or something on if it'll make you more comfortable, but my ass is FREEZING because the heating in here sucks, so whether you're going to crawl in the nice warm blankets with Smith's hot water bottle body or not, I'M going back to bed!"  
  
In the bed, Smith pulled the blanket over his head. "Troooott... Why are you being so NOISY?"  
  
Grousing now, Trott crawled back in the bed, yanking the blankets away enough to cover up. "Because Ross is calling us sinful."  
  
Peeking out, he blinked blearily. "But... We're FAE? People killing and eating is part of my diet? And you HELP me..."  
  
They both bounced up slightly as Ross sat down on the other side of the bed, on top of the covers. "You... KILL people?" He looked at them, a sadness in his eyes.  
  
Smith let out a sigh, sitting up and rubbing his face. He was definitely awake now. "Yes... We kill people. Ross, mate... I'm a kelpie. Kelpies eat people. It's just what we DO. I mean, I eat other things besides humans, but I still gotta eat them. Lions will always eat zebras, bears'll always eat fish and honey, and kelpies are always going to eat humans. There's no way around it." He placed a hand on Ross' shoulder, rubbing it. "Would you stop a lion from what it has to do to live?"  
  
He toyed with the ties on his hoodie, hesitating before answering, "No... I don't suppose I WOULD... But you're still sleeping naked together!"  
  
"We do a lot more than THAT."  
  
Ross' jaw dropped, eyes wide. "SODOMY!"  
  
Trott sat back up, thumping Ross with a pillow. "Look, can you be accusatory of what we do in bed in the morning? I'm tired, Smith's tired, these walls are paper thin and you're being louder than Smith in the middle of getting fucked!"  
  
"I'm not THAT loud, am I?" The question was quiet in the darkness.  
  
"You are, but right now we're all being too loud. Go to sleep!" Trott lay down, facing away from Smith and Ross as he yanked the blankets back over himself. There was silence behind him before he felt Smith's arms slide around him, pulling him in close. He let out a sigh, snuggling unashamedly back into his arms and warmth. Behind Smith, the bed sagged and groaned as Ross stretched out on top of the blankets, hands folded on his stomach while he stared up at the ceiling.  


* * *

  
  
Smith was already gone for the day when Trott got up the next morning. He shuffled out of the bedroom, hair a rumpled mess, in flannel pajama pants and a jumper. Rubbing the back of his hand against one eye, he let out a wide yawn. "Morning, Ross..."  
  
Ross looked up from where he sat on the floor, reading one of Smith's many magazines. "Good day. Um... These magazines have... Naked people..."  
  
Trott stopped, turning to stare at Ross. He blinked a few times, then went into the kitchen. "I'm not awake enough for this. Let me have morning tea."  
  
"Okay... Trott, may I... Ask you something?"  
  
"I can't guarantee how articulately I can answer it, but go ahead." He plugged in the kettle, then went rummaging through the cupboards for a cup and the tea.  
  
Ross looked at the magazine, made a face, then set it aside. "Well, I noticed something last night... You have a mark on your back. What is it?"  
  
As he set the cup down on the plate, Trott went still. He was silent for a moment, before he sighed. "It's... A cultural thing with selkies." He tapped one finger against the cup, then walked over, sitting down next to Ross. "You see... Selkies don't leave their herds, except to find a new one. It's the only acceptable reason. Any other reason, and you're considered dead to your race. That's what the mark means. I left my herd to be with Smith, and they branded me for it."  
  
He stared at Trott, good and long, head tilting to one side. "Why would you leave your own kind, though?" It confused him, knowing of no other living statues. He couldn't comprehend having one's own kind and then leaving them for something else.  
  
The kettle started to whistle, promptly Trott to stand up. "Because I didn't belong with them, not really." He walked to the kitchen, turning the kettle off. "The particular variety of selkie I am... We.." He stopped. "THEY tend to be... How do I put this? A lot BIGGER." He poured the hot water into a tea pot, adding the tea. As he waited for it to steep, he turned around, leaning his back against the counter. "I'm quite the exception to the norm. Too small in stature, too thin... My mother understood, at least, but the elders had me held down and branded." He scowled. "The old bastards can rot out there in the ocean for all I care."  
  
Ross was silent as he processed this, before pushing himself up. He walked over, pulling Trott into a hug. "I'm sorry..."  
  
He blinked in surprise, then smiled, leaning into the hug. "You don't need to be sorry for others' beliefs and actions, sunshine. Only be sorry for things you yourself have done if you feel regret." He paused, then pulled back to look up at him. "The question is, DO you have regrets yet?"  
  
Ross fidgeted, thinking, then shook his head. "No. I regret nothing so far." He then paused. "Well, maybe ONE thing... I think I scared the neighbor's dog yesterday. It tried to PEE on me, so I poked it with my tail. It left a TRAIL in the snow..."  
  
Trott stared at Ross for a moment, then placed a hand on the counter to steady himself as he started laughing. It shook his whole body, and he was soon wheezing, wiping away tears. "That... That poor dog! Don't worry, no harm done to it!" He gave Ross a pat on the arm, catching his breath. "My face hurts now..."  


* * *

  
  
The new year was always loud. Humans and fae alike filled the streets and parks of the city, setting off fireworks and generally celebrating. Street vendors were out and about, selling foods and trinkets and other things to celebrate the holiday.  
  
Ross held a small, square cardboard bowl with a red gingham pattern on it, filled to the brim and beyond with... Actually, he wasn't sure what it was. Smith said they were made from potatoes, but he was doubtful. They were also covered in a yellow... Substance.  
  
Smith passed a mini-basket to Trott, then accepted his own, paying the vendor. As they walked away, he plucked a chip out, grinning at it. "Nothing like chips smothered in cheese!"  
  
Ross looked at Smith and Trott, one carefully eating his food and the other... Not so carefully, then looked at the paper basket he held. "These are actually edible?"  
  
Reaching up, Trott gave him a pat on the back. "Just try them. If you don't like them, Smith'll be more than happy to eat them." Smith's response was muffled by a mouth full of chips and cheese. "Stop talking with your mouth full, sunshine, it's disgusting."  
  
He looked at his companions, then back at the food in his hands. There was some hesitation before he plucked up a particularly cheesy chip and popped it in his mouth. He stopped walking, eyes widening at the taste on his tongue, filling his mouth. He was unaware that Smith and Trott had stopped walking to watch him, measuring his reaction. Ross stared down for a moment, then started eating more of them.  
  
Smith grinned, while Trott chuckled. "Slow down, sunshine, you don't want to choke." Not that he was sure Ross COULD choke. Ross didn't even technically BREATHE. It would probably be little more than a discomfort. He just didn't want to deal with too many questions from concerned passer-by.  
  
Their amusement and delight at Ross' first taste of cheesy chips was abruptly cut off by a change in the air. Smith, Trott, and Ross and all went rigid, as did many other fae in the area. As if by some instinct, every human in the direct vicinity vacated that particular stretch of the street.  
  
Ross wiped cheese sauce from his mouth, looking around. "What's going on?"  
  
Trott pressed in closer to Smith, eyes narrowing. "One of the sidhe lords came out to play."  
  
"What's a sidhe lord?" He looked around, trying to figure out what a sidhe lord would even look like.  
  
Tossing the remains of his chips away, Smith let out a growl. "They're fae who think they're so much better than everybody else. They control entire parts of the city, making fae in their territories do what they demand." As solitary as kelpies were outside close families, the concept had never sat well with Smith. It was why he liked being around Trott, as Trott made no demands. They worked together like a well-oiled car.  
  
There was a hum behind them, causing all three to turn around. There before them stood one of the more powerful sidhe lords, Kirin, a smile on his face. "Well, what have we here? The little strays picked up another stray!" He walked around them, looking the trio over. "I'd dare say you almost look like a proper court now! The selkie that abandoned his own kind, the kelpie that lives in a world of concrete and glass, and..." He stopped, pointing at Ross. "What the hell are you?"  
  
Ross went rigid, before shuffling to hide behind Smith. He didn't like the way this sidhe lord acted or spoke. He didn't like the accusatory tone, either.  
  
Smith shifted, blocking Ross as best he could from Kirin's view. "He's a gargoyle, now piss off!"  
  
"A GARGOYLE..." His eyebrows went up. "And how, exactly, did you get a gargoyle?" He tapped one finger on his chin, then held it up. "Oh! There was that fire at one of the abandoned churches last week, PERHAPS... These two things are RELATED."  
  
Behind Smith, Ross glowered. Why did this guy care? But his interest had been piqued. There were other churches? His wasn't the only abandoned one in the city? Questions were starting to buzz in his head, ponderings about what they were like.  
  
Trott crossed his arms, glaring up at Kirin. "What does it matter to you? Nobody was coming back for him, so Smith brought him home where he'd matter." First they had to teach Ross about the world and how to live with fae. He only knew the barest essentials of living with humans that didn't want him.  
  
He motioned to the three collectively. "So you picked up an abandoned gargoyle." Suddenly, Kirin started laughing. "You're a court, made up of the fae nobody wants!"  
  
Smith went rigid, hands forming into fists. Before he could take a swing, Trott got in his way while Ross put a hand on his arm. He glanced between them, before turning to glare at Kirin again. "We'd rather be a garbage court than have to answer a horned shitlord like YOU." He turned and gave Ross a slight shove. "Let's go home, I'm not feeling FESTIVE now."  
  
As they left, the other fae in the area had started to snicker and laugh, chanting 'Garbage Court' as they walked by and Kirin grinned after them in that manner Smith and Trott found so irritating.  
  
When they got home, Trott sat on the couch with Ross at his feet, both watching Smith pace back and forth. Ross let out a confused sound, resting his cheek on Trott's knee as fingers carded through his hair. "Does nobody really want us?"  
  
He looked down, continuing to card his fingers through dark hair. "We don't need their big fancy courts, sunshine. But... Fae don't take kindly to those that buck the norm, as it were."  
  
Smith crammed his hands into his armpits, glaring at nothing in particular. "Well if they don't want us, then that's their loss! We can be a better court than any of those assholes!" He turned, pointing at Trott. "You can be the one they talk to."  
  
Trott leaned back, hands up. "Why ME? I'm not a leader!"  
  
"No, but you're calmer than I am." He walked over, sitting down next to Trott. "I'm a river fae, we're always moving, we're never at calm. You're an ocean fae, with at least the ILLUSION of being calm, and you ARE calm, more often than I am. You really want me doing the talking?"  
  
He went silent in thought, hand reaching back down to card through Ross' hair. "You have a point..." Trott let out a sigh, closing his eyes. "Fine. I'll be the voice of our... Court."  
  
On the floor, Ross could only blink up at them. "What IS a court?"  
  
The two fae blinked, staring at the ceiling before looking down at Ross. Smith chewed his lip or a moment, then sighed. "I don't think either one of us could really explain it very well... I guess to put it in human terms... It's like a gang? Or a small kingdom within a larger area. Each court has a sidhe lord, the leader of that group of fae."  
  
Trott nodded, then thumbed in a seemingly random direction. "The horned shit lord rules over the Court of the Storm Sage. Not sure where that name came from, but it's what they call themselves."  
  
Thoughtful now, Ross placed one hand on Smith's knee, rubbing it as he stared at nothing in particular. "So then we're... The Garbage Court?" He looked up at them. "One man's trash is another man's treasure, isn't it?"  
  
Both Smith and Trott stared at each other, before turning and grinning at Ross. Trott ruffled his hair, standing up. "That's it, then, we're the Garbage Court, and we'll wear that name with pride, just to shove it up those pricks' asses!"  
  
Ross' mouth puckered in, brow furrowing. "You both still have dirty mouths..."  
  
Standing up and stretching, Smith kept right on grinning. "Sorry, mate, you're gonna have to get used to that. Trott said the same thing when I met him, and now he's got a mouth as dirty as I have."  
  
"Nobody's mouth is as dirty as yours, Smith." Trott turned the kettle on, looking over his shoulder with a grin. He only got the middle finger in response, while Ross let out a huff.


End file.
